


Down on Your Knees, Hands in Your Hair

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow jobs (sort of), Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4212372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“What the </i>fuck<i>, Niall?” Zayn hisses from between his hands. His eyebrows are pulled together, and, from his position on one knee, Niall concedes that this probably wasn’t the most romantic way to go about things. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Down on Your Knees, Hands in Your Hair

“What the _fuck_ , Niall?” Zayn hisses from between his hands. His eyebrows are pulled together, and, from his position on one knee, Niall concedes that this probably wasn’t the most romantic way to go about things.

**

It’s been far too long since the two of them last saw each other. Making a relationship work when the two of you are in a band together is difficult, but it’s infinitely more difficult when only one of you is in the band. One Direction are currently on the American leg of their sixth world tour, and Zayn hasn't been able to get over to see his boyfriend for all of it. He's been stuck in the studio, trying to sort out his own upcoming album, and, despite the fact that Facetime and Snapchat have been doing them a lot of favours, it still doesn't really compare.

It’s just been a long time. Three months, in fact. Three months of staring at Niall’s face through a phone screen, getting Snapchats from Harry, Liam and Louis of Niall in his element. Three months of phone calls with bad reception, texts and selfies and sad faced emojis. Three months of stalking Instagram and Twitter with an intensity that could be argued to be obsessive. Three months is a quarter of a year. Three months is a third of a pregnancy. Three months is a long time.

He knows it's stupid, to be pining this much, but he misses Niall. He misses the space he creates in the bed. Misses the way he takes his tea in the mornings. He misses his laugh, loud and obnoxious and always filling the house. He misses the way he’ll stumble into Zayn’s studio, take one look at whatever Zayn is doing, and split his face into a wide smile, the way he'll lean forwards and kiss Zayn like it's a second kind of breathing. Zayn just misses his boyfriend, and he’s had enough.

This is how, a week later, he ends up standing sheepishly in Niall’s hotel room. It’s a surprise trip, arranged with the aid of the lads and their team, completely behind Niall’s back. He’d been hoping to get in at a time when Niall wasn’t around to meet him, giving him more time to prepare. As his luck would have it, though, he opens the door to see Niall. He's lying on the bed on his stomach, watching some golf tournament on the TV that he seems completely entranced with. His eyes are so trained on it that he doesn’t even notice Zayn come in, leaving Zayn with a moment just to regard him. Just to watch hm.

Niall is wearing boxers, and a jumper Zayn is pretty sure once used to be his. His hair soft with lack of product and he looks sleepy, eyes almost half closed. Zayn doesn't know what to do, can barely breathe with how much he’s missed him. He stands there silently, reluctant to have to stop looking at Niall. Niall, there, in front of him. In front of him where he hasn’t been for a _quarter of a fucking year_. Eventually, he coughs, quietly, finally attracting Niall's attention. Niall starts, takes one look at Zayn, whose hand is half raised in an awkward wave, and he  _pounces_.

There are only a few, short seconds from the two of them making eye contact, and Zayn being pressed bodily into the door he was standing in front of, all of Niall’s weight against him.

It’s not as though Zayn does anything to stop him, though. It's been three months, after all. So Zayn goes with it, leaning back so that all of him is pressed against the door, pulling Niall with him. Melting into Niall’s touch like he's ice-cream in the sun. Their kisses are so heated, so frantic, that it’s a natural progression for Niall to move from Zayn’s lips down to his jaw. To his neck, to his chest. Niall sinks down slowly, carefully. Murmuring things like, "I missed you," and, "Fuck, I can't believe you're actually here." Sinks down until he's on his knees, directly in front of Zayn's crotch. Zayn bites his lip, feeling as though he's about to fall apart before anything has even started.

There's no carpet on the floor here, though, and the wood must be hard against Niall’s bad knee. Zayn notices Niall moving, shifting about with the slightest pinch between his eyebrows. He’s trying to be subtle about it. Trying not let Zayn see, but Zayn catches the movement almost instantly. He’s well trained in Niall trying to be a martyr, and he scratches a hand through Niall’s hair, looking down at him in concern.

“We can go over to the bed, if you want,” He says, hand still stroking through Niall's hair. Niall scowls, clearly not happy with this suggestion.

“Fuck off, I’ll be fine. I just need to-” He shifts, moving around until his bad knee is out in front of him. Now, all his weight only on the one knee, his good knee. He grins up at Zayn triumphantly, moving his hands so that they're settled on Zayn’s hips, “There, see? M’grand, stop worrying.”

Zayn is still dubious about it, but, by this point, Niall’s hand is already palming his dick through his jeans. He's not sure that he could form a coherent argument if he wanted to, and besides, the more he argues with Niall, the more he prolongs the whole process. If Niall says he’s fine, then he’s fine. He's not an invalid, there's no longer any pressure on his bad knee. He looks gorgeous, anyway, Zayn doesn't think he could move away if he tried to, now. Niall seemingly determined to get rid of all his functioning brain cells. Certain that Niall's _aim_ is for Zayn to shut up, he lets it happen. Tangling his fingers back into Niall's hair, he allows his eyes to shut, and he falls back against the door once more.

There is an embarrassingly short time before everything is all over. Or, rather, Zayn would be embarrassed were this any other time, but ' _th_ _ree months_ ,’ is still running through his head. It's all Zayn can do to choke out some form of vague warning, tighten his fingers imperceptibly in Niall's hair, and let everything take it's own course. Niall doesn’t pull away, staying down there, smiling into Zayn's skin. Taking Zayn apart with careful, calculated hands. 

When Niall finally does move his head back, he runs his hand over Zayn's stomach softly, trailing barely there kisses over him. Zayn looks down at him, sure that if he tries to go anywhere his bones wouldn't support him. He feels like his insides have been mashed up, and all he can do is smile down at Niall goofily, trying to convey how much he missed him. Niall looks up at Zayn through his eyelashes. He’s smiling too, face smug, blue eyes shining and his hands still settled on the dips of Zayn’s hipbones. He opens his mouth, and Zayn is expecting him to say something like, ‘I missed you,’ or, ‘that was sick,’ or even for him to just laugh. What Niall actually comes out with is,

“Fuck, Zayn, will you marry me?”

Zayn falters, smile slipping off his face, leaving him staring down at Niall in shock. Niall, for his part, is still down on one fucking knee, looking up at Zayn earnestly, clearly choosing to ignore the fact that Zayn's limp cock is still fucking hanging out. Zayn is in shock, no idea what to say. Slowly, he brings both of his hands up to his face, rubbing at his eyes, trying to figure out if this is some kind of fever dream.

"Fucking _what_?" He asks, and, when Niall opts to say nothing, he hisses, “No, seriously, what the _fuck,_ Niall?" He's speaking through his hands, and Niall moves, holding up his own hands in a placating gesture as though he's trying to calm Zayn down. Shrugging, he says, 

"Look, I know that this isn't the most romantic of situations," Zayn snorts, cutting Niall off and motioning between the two of them wordlessly. He's about to make another comment, but Niall hits him on the hip, lightly, effectively shutting him up before he can even begin,

“Look, Zayn. It's just, I love you, yeah? And, like, I swear this isn’t spur of the moment, or anything. Or, well, I mean, the asking you _right now_ bit was, but, Zayn. I love you. I’ve got a ring, and everything. I’ve had it since the start of this leg of the tour. I just, I was already down on one knee and I figured, like, why put it off any longer? I mean it, I love you. I love you so much that it makes me feel slightly mental, and slightly stupid, and I’m shite at words, Zayn, you know this. But. But, I just can’t imagine any part of my life without you in it. I figure we should make that as official as we can, you know? I just want the world to know how much I love you, too.”

Zayn feels like someone has tipped ice cold water over him, but his blood is still burning red hot. He doesn't know what to say, thinks that he might be crying slightly, and Niall. Niall is still there. Still looking up at him on one knee. He’s moved, slightly, so that he’s now holding both of Zayn’s hands in his own, and he kisses them, gently, questioningly. Zayn takes a deep, shuddery breath in, trying to calm himself down.

“You’re a twat,” He says.

Niall raises his eyebrows, smile still on his face, Zayn's hands still in his, “That’s not a no,”

“No, that’s not a no, that’s a you’re a twat. I can't believe you fucking asked me to marry you when my cock is fucking _hanging out_!" 

Niall doesn't seem that perturbed, but he lets go of Zayn's hands, flapping an impatient arm at him and saying, “If it’s bothering you that much, put it away then!”

“I actually can’t believe you,” Zayn mutters, tucking his dick back into his pants, and looking back down at Niall. He’s still down on one fucking knee, still smiling, still looking up at Zayn. He looks hopeful, and slightly nervous, and his eyes are still the brightest blue that Zayn has ever seen. And, Christ, if he isn't the fucking, goddamn, love of Zayn’s life, then Zayn doesn't want to know who is. Zayn reaches for him, pulling him up so that they’re finally both standing, facing each other.

"I love you," he says, pulling Niall almost impossibly closer to him. Niall goes, readily, moving so that their faces are so pressed together that their noses are brushing, "I love you so much," Zayn continues. Niall's eyes flutter shut, and his hands anchor themselves in Zayn's t-shirt, "Like, I love you so much that it sort of feels like I'm dying with it sometimes. And, like, I can't _believe_ that you proposed to me like that, and we are never, ever telling the rest of the lads. But, Niall, I am stupidly gone for you. I couldn't imagine spending my life with anyone but you."

Niall pulls back, smiling at Zayn again, eyes crinkled up and teeth showing, "Is that a yes, then?"

Zayn kisses him. He kisses him because he can't _not_. He can't not tangle his fingers back in Niall's hair, can't not pull him so close that there isn't a centimetre between them. He feels like he's fizzing, like every atom in his body is sparking, giving off energy. Feels like he's shooting fireworks off his fingertips. He pulls back and Niall's face is flushed, cheeks and lips red, hair even more mussed than it was before.

"Of course that's a yes," He says, pressing chaste kisses to everywhere on Niall's face he can reach, "Yes," He says, after each one, "Yes."

Niall's whole face cracks into a smile. He looks as though the sun is shining through him, and he laughs. Tangling himself even further into Zayn. He looks as though Zayn just promised him the world and Derby football on top. He looks like Zayn's fiancé.

"Sick," he says, "legend. I'm totally telling all the lads about this as soon as we see them."

Zayn nods, "Uh huh," He says, fighting to keep his voice level, deadpan. 

"Pants 'round your ankles bit and all. I'm telling everyone," He's still grinning wildly, hands reaching for every bit of Zayn he can touch. Sliding his hands up and down Zayn's back. Zayn is still trying to keep the smile of his face, has a feeling that he's failing miserably. He shakes his head fondly,

"Are you?" He asks, and it's Niall's turn to nod, now,

"Oh yeah. Twitter, Instagram. Every interviewer ever, even if they didn't ask, even if everyone complains they've heard it before. I'm gonna tell the lot," His hands are still moving slowly on Zayn's back, and he kisses Zayn's jaw, softly, "Gonna tell the world, because you said yes to me. Regret it yet?" He breathes, and Zayn kisses him once more, holds his cheeks between his two palms like he's trying to contain the sun, 

"Nah," he says, pulling Niall by their linked hands towards the bed, "Never."

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot _believe_ that I wrote this. I'm so sorry for the fact that there is no sex, but even trying to write the word "come" made me feel like my mother was going to appear and hit me with a book for being so gross. Which is silly, because my mother would definitely _not_ do that. She would probably find it all hilarious and encourage me to write more. 
> 
> Anyway, this idea came to me when I was in the middle of working out (no, I have no idea why) but I had to stop my dish series and start to write it down because the image was just so hilarious to me? This is probably the crackiest thing I've ever written. Or, well, it was, until it just became unapologetic fluff, instead. Sorry mom, sorry god. Sorry, sorry Niall and Zayn. 
> 
> If you'd like to berate me for the terrible grammar/spelling/plot of this story, then hmu on tumblr @[niallhiran](http://niallhiran.tumblr.com). I don't have a beta so all mistakes are entirely my own.


End file.
